


In a Secondhand Store

by Meldanya



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/F, World War I
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-19
Updated: 2016-06-19
Packaged: 2018-07-16 00:08:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7244329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meldanya/pseuds/Meldanya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1915. Jack's off at war. Rosie makes a new friend back at home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Secondhand Store

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy/gifts).
  * Inspired by [I Ask No Man Pardon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6067306) by [MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy/pseuds/MercurialBianca_TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy). 



> Happy (belated) birthday @TheHonorableMrsMcCarthy! And while this is later, please do enjoy this fanfic of a fanfic of Rosie and Amelia's brief wartime romance.

“Well, the worst thing about this awful war is just how _uncomfortable_ it is around here without the menfolk -- it feels so _unsafe._ ” Mrs. Murchison’s voice was droning on, Rosie Robinson tried to shut out the nasally drone to focus on her stitches.

“I mean with Jim gone, what’s to stop armed ruffians from murdering us all in our sleep?”

“I agree,” chimed in a Mrs. Rowlandson, “Besides, all of this time with just us women is … is almost _unnatural_. We need the male energy to balance us out.”

Rosie bit her tongue, fighting the urge to retort -- _Your husbands are facing daily danger at the front and this is what you’re worried about?_ \-- she almost said it before recalling that her father wanted to get “in” with the Murchison family.

If Jack were here, he would have taken the edge off the conversation with a quiet quip and a sly look. Jack, who was mired in the mud in France, his letter full of dry remarks on life in the trenches, the men and the rat hunts. Jack would have made her laugh over bores like Agatha Murchison rather than being indignant.

“You’ve basted that seam on the wrong side, Mrs. Robinson,” a quiet voice cut into her thoughts. Rosie look up to see Amelia McKinley beside her her, and flushed as she noted the young woman's lively dark eyes smiling at her.

“Thank you,” Rosie started to pluck out the stitches of her Red Cross sheet, “I hate sewing.”

“Tedious dull work,” Mrs. McKinley agreed, and she dropped her voice saying, “Made a bit more tedious by certain others,” giving a significant look across the room to Mrs. Murchison, who had moved onto complaining about her trials with the grocer, with little regard for what others were saying.

Rosie suppressed the urge to smile, “Thank you, Mrs. McKinley.”

Amelia McKinley leaned in closer, “A few of us are staying behind after Sewing Circle for a quiet dinner. Why don’t you join us, Mrs. Robinson?”

Rosie looked guiltily across the room -- her father had asked to make better friends with the Murchisons, but she just couldn't care enough to try. Jack wouldn't care, he'd tell her to dine with whoever she chose. And, oh, she had been wanting to get to know Mrs. McKinley better ever since she'd noticed her vivacious laugh at their first Red Cross society. 

“Yes, I’d love to join you for dinner.”

***

“He was going on and on about the doctrine of just war and the _expression_ on his face as I told him that he was completely misquoting Aquinas...”

 _Yes, this dinner was a good idea,_ Rosie thought, letting the conversation wash over her as she sipped her after dinner coffee.

“Well, I'm sure that old bore has it coming to him if he's not going to even _reconsider_ his stance with the current slaughter in Belgium”

Amelia and Myrtle Gordon were engaged in a lengthy discussion on the philosophy of war. Rosie thought back to her father's last dull dinner, full of sordid city gossip and meaningless civilities. She found herself fully engaged in the conversation like she hadn't been since Jack left. 

She found herself chiming in, “Well, really, I think that John Stuart Mill really comes into play here…,” and felt a surge of pride as she articulated her stance -- her brain still _worked_.

The evening wound to a close. Amelia thanked Rosie and handed her her hat (Rosie suddenly wished that she hadn’t worn her old pink felt). Amelia said, “That wasn't so bad … for an _unnatural_ gathering of women, as Mrs. Murchison would deem it.”

Rosie laughed, “I had a lovely night, Mrs. McKinley, despite the lack of men.”

“Please, call me Amelia.”

“Likewise, Rosie.”

“Well, Rosie, I'm glad you came. Do come again another night.”

Rosie had her letter to Jack already composed in her head, she was eager to get home and tell him everything about her day.

She bid farewell to Amelia, flushing as she shook her hand. Well, perhaps not _everything_ … 


End file.
